


So He Really Don't Eva' Talk?

by generoe (TWolves51)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Analogies are awesome, Bastogne, Battle, Fighting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Operation Market Garden, Work In Progress, World War II, fucking hell I hate tags, recruits - Freeform, shit happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:41:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWolves51/pseuds/generoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eugene was silent, only half smiles and twinkling eyes. Babe decided he wanted to know more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holland was Shitty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lipslikepetals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipslikepetals/gifts), [Kat1132](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat1132/gifts).



> I mean no disrespect to the real men of Easy Company nor to any of the men that fought and died in World War II. All the characters herein are based on the Miniseries.
> 
> Also, lipslikepetals, I fucking love your work! I've read it at least 4 times, it's so beautiful and whole. So this is for you, hoping I can live up to your bossness as a writer.
> 
> And Kat1132, you are absolutely wonderful and an inspiration. 
> 
> Thank you both so much.

“So he really don’t eva’ talk?” Babe asked, on that highway somewhere in Holland.

“Na, not really.” Spina replied and turned to say something to Guarnere.

Babe’s eyebrows bent in thought and he hummed to himself, musing. 

~

It was Spina who introduced Doc Roe to Babe. Doc had nodded almost in dismissal and Heffron had frowned when Doc turned back to his inventory. Spina led him back outside again and told him that Doc was always like that. He hardly talked, never joined conversations or circles of friends, kept himself to himself. No one really knew much about him except that he’d grown up outside New Orleans and could make a mean gumbo out of the regulation slop they were given.

~

Babe decided he sorta liked the quiet way Doc went about his business. Making an inventory of the supplies they had and those they needed, training the new recruits (himself included) on how to quickly and efficiently make a tourniquet, and even talking quietly to Spina. Babe watched him from the doorway of his temporary house, smoking and humming to himself a song from back home.

“Babe, we’re going out. You comin’?” Guarnere asked as he walked by, uniform in perfect girly attracting order. “Gotta be some broads that wanna see your ugly mug.” 

“Ya, ya, in a second.” Babe stubbed out his cigarette and was about to walk across the road to ask Doc if he wanted to come when Guarnere put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t ask the Doc, he neva comes along.”

“Ya? Why not?” Babe hesitated before falling in step with Bill, glancing back one last time just at the same second that Doc looked up. He gave Babe a small smile and returned to his business. 

“He ain’t a people person. Hell, I don’t know. He never hangs around the guys, but he’s solid, even without a gun.” Guarere’s mind wasn’t there anymore. “You ever been to a little place called Nancy’s?”

Babe hadn’t as it turned out.

The next morning they were put on lockdown. No entering or leaving their temporary camp, no broads, no drinks, just the boys. And the sand tables and the charts and everything else that meant a new operation was starting. Operation Market Garden, would have them home by Christmas if British General Montgomery had his way. The idea was to enter Germany through Holland by crossing the Rhine in various parts of the countryside. It was simple almost too simple, as if it was bait, but it wasn’t Babe’s job to worry or muse. Instead there was plenty else for him to do. 

Spina needed help distributing the medical kits to the recruits and Doc was trying to make one of the Lieutenants understand that he needed the medical kit or Doc wouldn’t have enough morphine for everyone. 

“I’m sorry sir, but you need to take this. They didn’t give me enough morphine to get by on extras.” Doc was trying to explain but there was no use telling the man and he dropped the kit, walking quickly away. Babe picked it up and handed it to Doc.

“At least you’ll have it if he ever really does need it.” Doc’s lips twitched in an almost smile and he thanked Babe, before turning back to Spina to help with the distributing.

Babe scratched the back of his neck wondering if they were planning on getting in any of the C-47s that were lining the runways or were they just going to stand there. Dressed in everything they needed and didn’t. 

“Hey Sergeant?” Babe turned to Guarnere who was tightening his belt.

“Ya Babe.”

“Did your first jump get called off?” Babe asked, proud that the nervousness he felt hadn’t displayed itself in his tone.

“Practice or combat?” Bill asked in reply.

“Practice.” Babe answered, curious.

“My first practice jump was cancelled because it was too foggy.” Bill said as Doc came over to check First-Aid kits. “Ya remember Doc? They couldn’t take us up because of the damn fog. We’d gotten suited up and they said ‘Sorry jump’s cancelled, take a walk.’ And I had to think the whole goddamn thing over again.” Doc nodded in remembrance and agreement and Babe suddenly felt left out. 

Babe’d never felt that way about conversations that Bill and Toye had had in front of him about Taccoa or Sobel (who’d suddenly showed up again but didn’t look like he’d cause them much trouble) or Currahee. But here as he stood next to them listening to Bill tell about the actual jump and seeing Doc’s smile creep out like the sun from behind a cloud. He sorta wished he’d been there for that first jump from the roaring belly of a C-47 into the open air. He mentally shook himself and told himself he was being stupid. 

Then suddenly they were lining up to get on the 47s, all of them bulky with rifles sticking out like tree branches. It was almost funny, but Babe’s stomach was twisting in knots and he tried to focus but things weren’t staying in one place. Doc handed him an air sickness pill.

“Don’t swallow it. Spit it back out, it makes your head go fuzzy and that’s the last thing you’ll need.” Doc’s voice was soft, his voice kind and he stood behind Babe as the climbed into the C-47 marked with a huge pin up girl in skimpy purple dress. 

It was tight and it felt like he couldn’t breathe but a gentle hand on his back gave him a shove to the back of the aircraft and he sat. Doc sat in the empty space behind him, Babe looked back at him, twisting his neck. The closed face tight with anticipation, lips a grim line, grey green eyes staring back at him. The reality of what they were about to do hit him and he felt his stomach try to rebel. 

“You need somethin’, Heffron?” Doc asked, his voice betraying none of the tightness in his face. 

“Na, I’m a-ight, Doc.” Babe turned back to face the front. The C-47 taxied out on to the runway and began gathering speed. With a slight bump and a jolt they were in the air. Babe clenched a hand around his lighter and tried to tamp down the nerves. His first combat jump and his heart was pumping like a racehorse. Maybe he shouldn’t have forgone the airsickness pills if they would have made him relax. His hands shook as he flipped his lighter open then closed. Open… closed… open… closed…

“Heffron?” Doc’s voice came from behind him, barely audible around the rushing of the air just beyond the tin wall of the airplane. 

“Ya?” Babe was embarrassed at the shake in his voice.

“Don’t think about it too much. Just enough that you’ll run if you have to.” Doc said, and his hand closed briefly around Babe’s shoulder. Babe felt some of the tension leave his back and he shut the lighter one last time with a snap then shoved it in a pocket. Resolve tightening through every limb, he would damn well live through this.

“Thanks, Doc.” Babe replied and leaned his back against the barrier between him and the rushing wind. 

They jumped low and quick, Babe thumped to the ground almost expecting the bullets that never came. He shrugged off his parachute and ran to find Sergeant Martin. He felt someone squeeze his arm and he paused, Doc nodded and Babe grinned. 

~

Eindhoven was a wonderful city. The Dutch loved Americans and Babe had never been kissed that many times in an day as he had in an hour in Eindhoven. Of course even through all of the laughing and eating (and kissing) there was this sense that they hadn’t finished, it wasn’t over yet. Babe felt the anticipation curl in his stomach like he was going through another combat jump. 

They spent the night in a barn with real food in their stomachs and laziness in their movements. No one expected much to happen, maybe a few skirmishes here and there. Nothing that would kill anyone, nothing that would hurt destroy or any of them. Babe still had that feeling in his stomach though and when he’d tried to tell Miller about it, he’d just laughed it off.

“Oh Babe, you’re imagining things, what can the Krauts do now? They haven’t put up much of a resistance so far.” He strode off to look for Hashey.

Babe sighed and leaned back against a barn post. No one ever goddamn listened to him.

“You coulda been a Medic, Heffron.” The soft cajun lilt came from behind him and Babe twisted to see Doc leaning back against a bale of hay.

“Ya? Why’s that?” Babe asked, wishing he could see more of Doc’s face.

“You feelin’ tight in your stomach?” Doc questioned in reply. “Like something’s telling you this ain’t so right as everyone keeps sayin’.” 

Babe nodded.

“Medics feel that everyday. Just a feelin’ we have.” Doc’s voice trailed off as if he might have said more.

“Ya really think I coulda been Medic?” Babe was not convinced. Just because he felt that something was wrong didn’t mean jack-shit.

“Hmm,” Doc mumbled. “maybe.”

Babe frowned in thought, trying to decide if saving men’s lives with a gun was better than without. It wasn’t a comparison really, their jobs were reliant on each other. If there were never any wounded GIs then Doc’s job wasn’t important. If there were never any enemy soldiers there Babe’s job was also not important. He was too tired to finish this train of thought, though he knew it involved the fact that they all relied on each other in the end because this was war.

War was whole other category of shitty thoughts.

“Heffron.” Doc said out of darkness.

“Ya?”

“Stop thinking and get some shut eye.” There was a hint of humour in Doc’s voice as he said it, and Babe shut his eyes not expecting to fall so suddenly into sleep. 

They walked all morning of the next day, finally arriving in Nuenen around early afternoon. That was when Lieutenant Brewer got it in the throat, red suddenly coating the front of his uniform. A medic ran forward trying to put a hand on the situation but his leg was shot out. For a split second Babe found himself praying it wasn’t Doc, he felt guilty for doing it, but he really did hope is wasn’t the soft spoken medic.

“What the fuck are you doing sitting on your asses? Move!” Sergeant Martin was yelling at them and Babe ran in a quick crouch behind him. The next thirty minutes were a blur of noise, explosions, yelling, and the sound of pained breath. Babe sorta thought that combat would be shitty, but he hadn’t expect that shitty. People went down, tanks and bulidings exploded. Brits and their stupid rules and caution. Then they fucking reated. 

Retreating wasn’t something he wanted to do the first time he was in combat. Seeing Miller with his head split open, eyes staring, was a punch in the gut. It made him think about what Miller had said the previous day.

_Oh Babe, you’re imagining things, what can the Krauts do here? They haven’t put up much of a resistance._

He saw Lieutenant Compton take the bullet through both ass cheeks and suddenly Doc was there checking the wound and Babe felt relief even through the utter hell they were experiencing. Doc looked up at him for a split second and Babe felt the medic’s quiet calm presence spread through his chest.

And then bullets were pinging around him again and Babe’s first reaction was the intense desire to curl into himself and wish it all away, but there was no time for that. He was running, jump boots smacking the pavement, breath harsh and fast in his lungs. Shoving things aside on the truck bed so they could get Lieutenant Compton on board without too much more pain. Faster than the could think they was on a truck and driving away, Babe watched the smoking town fade into the distance with the bitter taste of failure spread across his tongue. Sergeant Randleman was gone and his platoon all looked beat.

That night they made camp to sound of Eindhoven being bombed. The red flashes danced across the horizon and Babe wished that whoever was arguing near him (probably Liebgott and Webster) would just shut up. The ground rumbled with every shell that hit Eindhoven and Babe tried not to imagine being there in that moment. The shelled out, burning carcass of a city, the people hidden in their bomb shelters or not. Bodies and screaming, he tried to shut it out, but it wouldn’t go… Miller flashed back though his thoughts and he cringed. 

“Hey.” Someone shoved something hot into his hands. Heffron opened his eyes and it was Doc crouching next to him. “You’re not sleepin’.”

“Na, I can’t, not after what happened today.” Heffron sighed and buried his nose in the mug. The warm comforting fumes of the coffee seeping in through his nostrils. “Just wish I was warma and maybe with some better grub in my belly the shelling wouldn’t bother me.” 

“It ain’t so bad.” Doc paused in thought. “The shellin’ ain’t so bad as it was in Normandy.” He gave a half twitch of his lips in the barest hint of smile and got up. “Drink up, Heffron, we’re movin’ at dawn.” 

“I wish you’d just call me Babe.” Heffron mumbled at Doc’s retreating back. He drank the coffee and they moved out before dawn. He didn’t think about Doc in Normandy and he didn’t regret bitching. At least that’s what he told himself.

Sargeant Randleman turned up again and they took out a two companies of SS. Bill got it in leg and had to go to a hospital. Babe was fucking tired and filthy, and something had broken in him. 

They were taken off the line almost two months later and into Arnhem a month and a half later. Babe was exhausted, bone sore and he needed a shower. He thought the whole thing was bust, the British got their chance and fucked it up even if they did still free Holland. They lost a lot of people, Guarnere was in the hospital with a bullet in his leg, and Buck had been shot through the ass. Babe sighed into his food, Doc had gone to the aid station for a bullet in the leg too. 

Babe hadn’t decided why he’d volunteered to help him get there. It wasn’t like they were friends really. More like passing nods and friendly half smiles. Doc had limped without a word of complaint the mile and half back to the aid station. He did talk though after Babe had sent a steady, friendly volley of questions at him. 

“Where’d ya grow up?”

“Bayou Chene, Louisiana.” Doc stumbled and Babe caught and steadied him.

“That’s why you have that accent, right?” Doc actually smiled. Bright teeth flashing in the mid afternoon light, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Babe had found himself smiling too though he didn’t know why.

“Yes, Heffron, that why I have the accent.” 

“Is it true,” Babe paused. “that ya can make Gumbo out of almost anything?”

This time Doc laughed, a small short chuckle that seemed to escape almost accidentally. “Is that what they say about me?”

“Well that’s what Bill and Joe say, and I heard Liebgott telling Hoobler that he would kill for some of ya Gumbo.” Babe prayed he wasn’t turning red under Doc’s bluegreen stare.

“When we were back in Toccoa, we was on a march and freezing our asses off at night. So I gathered everyone’s K-Rations and some fish that Luz caught in a brook and fixed us some Gumbo.” Doc smiled softly. “I don’t know about it bein’ any good. No real spices to make it real hot.”

“When we get off the line some time in the goddamn future, ya gotta make me some.” Babe said and that moment the aid station came into sight.

“Alright, but I’ll make a proper one, no K-Ration stew shit.” Doc said, patting Babe on the shoulder. “I can go the rest o’ way myself, go on back.” 

“Ya sure?” Babe asked, concern etched in his voice.

“I’ll be fine, you go.” Doc’s lips twitched and Babe found himself wishing he would smile again. “Don’t you worry.”

Babe had gotten back just before nightfall and Doc had been back two days later.

Babe sighed into his food again and Perconte nudged him. “Quit sighing, I’m trying to eat here.”

Two days later, they were pegged to rescue some Brits on an island outside of Arnhem. “Moose” Heyliger had taken over Winters’ job as company CO and Babe thought he did a good job getting them in and out as quick as a jawn.

“Smooth as butter on hot bread.” As Luz put it.

The next night he was eating dinner with Spina, Muck and Penkala. Doc was sitting at the end of the bench sorta staring at his food and not really eating and Babe was about to go over and see what was up when several shots rang out from outside. Doc was immediately on his feet and running for the door, medical bag in hand. The four of them looked at each other and then joined the other guys at the window.

Captain Winters and Lieutenant Welsh were carrying someone toward and ambulance that was sitting idly at the side of the road. Doc raced up, reached out a hand feeling, Babe assumed, for a pulse.

“Imma go see what’s up.” Spina ran out.

They watched him race up behind Doc then stop as Doc pointed at the two officers and the muffled sound of yelling came through the glass of the window. Then Doc climbed in with Spina at his heels and the ambulance raced away. 

Lieutenant Welsh strode toward the building and Babe stood away from the window as he entered the room.

“Lieutenant Heyliger has been hit by a friendly.” His voice was tired and he turned to walk out again. 

“Sir?” Penkala spoke up from behind Babe.

“Yes. Speak, trooper.” Welsh’s shoulders were slumped.

“Will he be ok?” 

“We have yet to find out.” The Lieutenant walked out the door closing behind him with snap.

They all started talking at once and over each other in quick succession.

“Friendly? Shit, these new recruits.” That was Liebgott.

“Another good CO gone.” MccLung shook his head.

“Wonder what fuck up they’ll give up this time.” Luz pulled out a smoke.

“Did you hear what Doc was yelling about?” Penkala asked.

“Doc don’t even talk and now he yells. What kinda shit situation was this?” Toye said, digging his hands in his pockets.

“Well when Spina gets back we’ll know.” Babe said, wondering what in the hell had gotten Doc mad. He never got mad, always the cool head in a hot situation. 

An exhausted Spina showed up about thirty minutes later with the bittersweet new that Heyliger would make it. They all gave a collective sigh of relief because Moose was a good guy and a good officer and they were glad he would make it. 

“What was Doc yellin’ about?” Popeye asked after a second’s pause.

“Moose was hit by a jumpy veteran. Not a recruit. Fuckers should be taken off the line in they're fuckin' jumpy Officers didn’t remember how much morphine they’d put in him so Doc got pissed off at them.” Spina said and shrugged. “Doc’s like that. Intense.”

“An’ ya sure Moose is goin’ to be ok?” Gordon asked.

“Ya, he’ll be fine.” Spina turned to go. “Oh and we’re moving off the line, back to France.”


	2. All Ya Need's a Little Bit a Gumbo

Babe felt the room still then the buzz of excited conversation filled the room and he smiled to himself, soldiers gossiped too much. Moose was a good guy and it was good to hear that he would make it back home. He walked out after Spina and went to find Doc.

Doc was in the bathroom washing his hands when Babe came looking. He leaned against the door and watched the steady movement of the other man’s hands as the water rinsed off the blood. War had chosen her healer and she wasn’t giving him any choice in the matter. 

“Heyliger will be fine.” Doc said, his voice clipped, steam coming off of his hands as they hit the chilly October air blowing in through the windows. Some fucking idiot hadn’t closed them. 

“I was goin’ to ask how ya doin’.” Babe said, ignoring Doc’s statement. 

“I’m fine, Heffron.” Doc said though his voice was still that sharp tone of shoved away emotion. He rested his hands on the edges of the sink and looked down so his face was hidden from Babe’s view. Babe knew better.

“No you ain’t, you look like shit warmed ova.” Babe bumped off the wall and took a step forward.

“I’m fine.” Doc’s voice broke and Babe put a hand on his shoulder.

“Fuck, Doc. What’s wrong?” Babe asked, concern etched in his voice.

“Nothing.” Doc had regained his composure and straightened up.

“What the hell, Doc?” Babe threw up his hands. “What the fuck happened to get you rattled? Moose is gonna be a-right, ain’t he?”

Doc’s carefully put together face fell. Immediately exhaustion and worry lines filled out along his eyes and mouth. “It’s so fuckin’ hard sometimes to watch people get hurt.” His voice was soft and melancholic. Mourning ran her elegant whispery fingers along Doc’s face, creasing and deepening the worry lines. Babe wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Come on let’s get something warm in ya and then getcha ta bed.” He lead Doc out of the bathroom and down the hall to the canteen area.

“Thanks Babe.” Doc whispered so softly that Babe almost didn’t catch it. 

Later lying in his bunk above the newly returned Guarnere, Babe shot bolt upright.

“Woah, Babe. Something wrong?” Luz asked from the floor where a couple of them were playing cards. 

“Na, I just remembered somethin’.” He lay back down a small smile playing across his lips. Babe had realized that Doc had called him ‘Babe’ for the first time.

~

“Hey, Bill!” Johnny Martin called down the table.

“Ya, Johnny?” Guarnere looked up from the soup he was working his way through.

“Did Babe tell you about what happened to him in Holland?” Johnny had smirk on his face. Bill turned to look at Babe. He flushed because this must be about the sock. “Babe lost a sock so he had to wear one by switching off, some Kraut blew the other sock to fuckin’ heaven.”

Bill smiled. “Shit, how many pairs do you carry now?”

“Three.” Babe answered sheepishly. Bill laughed. Humor was the only thing they had sometimes.

~

They headed back to France for rest, hot showers and a change of clothing. Babe was thankful because he stunk like hell. The water was wonderful and he stood under it for as long as he could before being chased out so someone else could have a turn. He went in search of Spina for a game of cards, back pay jingling merrily in his pocket. Luck was the woman he would court tonight, he prayed she’d take a shine to him.

It felt like something was over, maybe it was the war maybe it was Babe’s fear, he didn’t know but the men were relaxed. Laughter was heard from all around, the murmur of voices around a game of craps or blackjack, and Babe felt content.

“There ya are. I need your help with something.” Spina was at his elbow.

“What, something wrong?” Babe asked, following on Spina’s heels.

“Doc’s insisting on going through supplies right now when he should be catching a few. He’s dead on his fucking feet.” Spina sounded exasperated and concerned.

“Shit.” Was all Babe replied.

Spina entered the supply room first, Babe came in close behind. Doc stood in front of an open crate, frowning down at the contents

“Doc?” Spina asked cautiously.

“Hmm.” Was the reply.

“You should go to bed, ya dead on ya feet.” Babe said and took a couple more steps into the room, motioning to Spina that he could handle it. Spina nodded his thanks and scurried off.

“Na, I have to check… make sure we get resupplied.” Doc mumbled, the tiredness bleeding into his voice. He swayed and Babe just managed to step forward in time to catch him.

“Aww fuck, Gene.” He hadn’t meant to call Doc that it had just … slipped out. 

“Only my mama calls me that.” Doc mumbled as Babe wove an arm across the back of his waist and hoisted the other man up. He was wrong most of the men called him Gene or Doc, it just proved to Babe how tired he really was.

“Let’s getcha to bed.” Babe said quietly and began stumble walking toward Doc’s tent.

“Heffron?” Doc said, the word smearing out of his mouth like paint.

“Ya?” Babe grunted not really wanting to carry a conversation as he dragged the tired man across the grass, waving away offers of help.

“Immmma gonnnna make yew that gumbo tommorra.” Doc’s accent thickened and it took a second for Babe to decipher the slurred words.

“Hell, ya don’t need ta. Just get some sleep a-right?” Babe had finally reached the tent. Yanking up the flap he stepped inside and carefully helped Doc lay down. The medic was asleep in minutes. Babe stood watching him for a moment, lost in thought, before bending and untying Doc’s shoes. He set them next to the sleeping man and walked out, closing the tent flap behind him. 

Babe pulled out a cigarette and lit it up before going in search of a game. He hoped in the back of his mind that the medic would find some peace in his sleep even for a little while.

The next morning Babe woke up to the smell of something spicy. He rolled over to the edge of the bunk and called down to Guarnere;

“What’s the smell?” Bill was attempting to put on his boots and swearing at the cold that had made his fingers swell. 

“Gumbo maybe. Fuck it, finally!” Finally the shoes went over his foot. 

Babe yawned and sat up, wiping the grogginess from his eyes. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and thumped down in his socks. Sitting down next to a still swearing Guarnere he pulled his boots forward in front of his feet. He vaguely remembered Doc saying something about making gumbo the night before but he hadn’t taken the exhausted man very seriously. It was probably just the cooks mixing up something for the officers.

After much swearing and pulling Babe got his own boots (Cold had kissed his fingers just as much as Guarnere’s) then went in search of some hot chow and a cup of coffee. Guarnere was behind him mumbling something about needing the mess tent closer to their tent, when Babe opened the flap of the cantine. The smell was stronger here, thick and spicy it hung in the air like a curtain of moisture. Doc had an apron on around his skinny hips and he was stirring a large pot of something. 

“Doc is that you?” Guarnere asked surprise evident in his tone. Men from the rest of the company began to crowd in behind Babe forcing him to stop looking and move out of the way. He grinned, it was real nice that Doc had remembered even if the gumbo wasn’t only for him. 

“Yes, Guarnere.” Doc answered and stepped back allowing Spina to step in and begin serving the men. He caught Babe’s eyes and smiled, those white teeth flashing like back in Holland. Babe felt his stomach shiver and hoped it was only hunger, he stepped in line behind the last man. 

Each man in the company got a tray with a bowl of gumbo and two slices of bread (coffee was not Doc’s problem). When finally Babe stepped up, tray outstretched Spina said;

“Wait ta eat it I wanna see your face.”

“A-right.” Babe replied and went to go sit in his usual spot next to Guarnere. 

“Aww Babe you gotta try this, it’s fucking god send. Beats Army food any day.” Guarnere said, his mouth full, eyes rolling. Around the room the other man called out their equal appreciation. Spina and Doc sat down across from them with cups of coffee in hand. 

“Doc if I married you would you make this everyday for the rest of my life?” Luz asked behind them.

“Luz, you’re that last person I’d marry, so no I don’t think I’ll be makin’ you gumbo for the rest of yar life.” Doc was half smiling and Spina was guffawing quietly. Babe had sudden mental image of Luz in a wedding gown and snorted. 

"Aw shit." Luz said, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

Babe sighed a chuckle and dipped the spoon into the gumbo. Raising a tentative hand he blew on it to cool it and took a cautious bite. It tasted like... he didn't have the words to describe it. Like swampy hot weather, tired muscles under a humid sun, paprika (that he only ever smelled but was too poor to taste) and, God, did it remind him of Eugene Roe. He closed his eyes for a second allowing the spicy stew to completely burn his mouth before swallowing and gasping out; 

"Eugene fucking Roe you're a fucking genius." 

Guarnere laughed and clapped him on the back. 

"Ain't that fuckin' right." 

But Babe was watching Gene's face, the smile of satisfaction and the arched eyebrow. As if to say; "I fuckin' told you so." Babe grinned at him smile wide and took another bite of gumbo. If Gene was a poem Babe had just read him.

Much later after a day of training new recruits (Babe sorta laughed that he had been one once), parade ground practice, shitty food (he wished he’d saved some of the gumbo) and tired bones, Babe sat outside just beyond the perimeter of light emanating from the tents. He pulled out the pack of smokes he’d lifted off Luz and lit himself one. The orange tip glowed in the half light and he exhaled a cloud of smoke that blended into the grey English sky. 

“Min’ some company?” Gene was suddenly standing in front of him with bowl and Babe motioned that he should sit. Gene handed him the metal container of whatever it was and sat beside him, cross legged on the cold ground, shoulder pressed to Babe’s. The bowl was hot in Babe’s hands and he dropped the cigarette in his mouth to the ground at the smell. Gene grinned. “Ya, it’s the last of it.”

Babe dug in with gusto and polished off the bowl quicker than he had hoped. “You’re a fucking food genius, Gene.”

“Now just because I can make a mean gumbo does not mean I can cook anythin’ else.” Gene said smiling, Babe felt the same stomach quivers as before and stared down at the empty bowl for a minute. 

“I’m sure,” Babe’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ra fine cook Gene.”

The air had changed between them, relaxed camaraderie turning all of the sudden to whip crack tension. Babe didn’t know if it had been intentional or if it had just happened. Gene’s face was mostly in shadow and he wished… for a second he wished he could reach forward and… He felt himself leaning forward instead like the rain to the wind being pulled together...Babe could feel Gene’s breath on his face, stale cigarettes and toothpaste. Could smell the same things in Gene that he could in the gumbo. They were so close eyes locked grey green on blue-

“Men gather up! The Germans have launched a counterattack in the Ardennes in Belgium. All weekend passes are canceled. Go gather whatever you can, we’re moving out!” 

Babe and Gene sprang apart like opposite sides of a magnet. Gene quickly stood up and without a word he walked away into the slowly growing mass of people. Babe sat there for a moment or two more before getting up and carefully moving off in the opposite direction, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting one. 

War and Chaos laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comment and kudos are much appreciated.
> 
> I may post another chapter later, if I have time, because this one is kinda short.


	3. Cold and Thoughts

They had arrived in Bastogne a week ago, their entrapment by the Germans an unhappy but not unusual occurrence. Shelling, MG fire, flares, the fucking cold, and the replacements had all worked together to make Bastogne one the most hellish places Babe had ever been in. That, in addition to the fact that he didn't know how to act around Doc (was he Doc? Eugene? Gene?), was making Babe as mad as a fucking hatter. 

They'd almost kissed, for Christ's sake! 

And Eugene (he sure as hell was beyond Doc at this point) was acting like it had never fucking happened. Babe supposed that could be because the whole idea of it was wrong, he wasn't a queer, a poof, a fruit, whatever. He liked the broads just as much as the next man, but Eugene. Babe had shaken his head and frowned at the replacement in his fox hole, Jullian. 

"Watch the goddamn line." He'd snapped and the shelling had started. 

The ground shook and the trees groaned with the force of it, the dirt around him jumped. The boom and crash of each shell resounded in his ears like the bell to Mass and for a moment he imagined himself walking to Church arm in arm with his mother. Eugene slipped into the foxhole next to him, Julian stared. 

"Watch the goddamn line, Jullian!" 

"Morphine?" Was all Eugene asked, face tight with tension. 

"No." Babe relied shortly, Eugene's face sort of softened for a second and looked about to say something more, but there was a yell for "Medic!" somewhere to Babe's right. With a final glance at Babe, Eugene raced off. 

Eventually the shelling eased off, Babe relaxed to somewhat and patted Jullian on the shoulder. 

"Welcome to fucking war." Babe grinned wryly at him. 

"Is he always like that?" Julian asked.

"Who, Doc?" 

"Ya." 

"Medics ain't supposed to get attached to soldiers." He wondered why he was defending Eugene, clearly he had broken the cardinal rule. Their relationship was fucked up whatever way he looked at it.

"Why?" Julian looked genuinely puzzled.

"Because, genius, would you wanna sew up ya friend's guts?" Babe asked, a little callously, but he was tired and cold. He had a fucking excuse. Julian blanched and gripped his rifle tighter. Babe sighed and was about to something to make the kid feel a little better when Spina dropped in. 

"Doc wants me to go to 3rd Battalion, try and salvage some Medical supplies. Ya coming with me." 

Babe creaked to his feet. "Keep your eyes on the line." 

Julian nodded fervently following them with his eyes as they headed into the gently falling snow. The white powder crunched under foot and the silence was deafening to men usually accustomed to the sounds of consistent shelling in their vicinity. The trees provided no landmarks, a shelled out tree wasn't unusual and everything was covered in a blanket of freezing white. 

"He's so fucking little." Ralph said, hands shoved deep into his pockets, trying to chase some last vestige of warmth from the cloth.

"Virgin." Babe replied, teeth chattering as he swung in circles, trying to keep an eye on everything at once.

"No shit?" Spina asked, turning in surprise to Babe who nodded.

"Fucking young." Babe answered, as if he himself wasn’t young, and promptly fell into a foxhole. "Shit!"

Below him a voice asked in what was distinctly German; "Hinkle, Hinkle, ist das du?" 

Babe made a face at Spina who turned to run. He laughed and yanked himself out of the hole, sprinting after Spina. "Hinkle my ass, Kraut!"

Half hearted shots nipped at their heels as they ran laughing and gasping toward what they hoped was 3rd Battalion. The cold forgotten in the morbid hilarity of the moment, breaths burning through frozen lungs and empty stomachs used to their own hollowness. 

It was raining artillery when Babe and Spina finally located 3rd Battalion who had nothing to spare. Babe wanted to shake someone because he was the one who was going to have to watch the disappointment flit across Eugene's face. 

“I’m sorry I can’t give you anything.” The surgeon said, his voice wire thin with stress. “We’re pulling back and I’m running low on supplies as much as you.” 

Babe have Spina a look and he shrugged. “Thanks anyway.” 

“No problem, you stay safe now boys.” The surgeon was already distracted.

“Yes, sir.” Babe mumbled as they headed back into the white. 

“Fucking sick of it.” Ralph said as they came insight of familiar foxholes. 

“Ain't we all?” Babe replied, looking around for Eugene. 

Babe found Eugene, or rather Eugene was sitting at the edges of the circle they had made while eating. He was going through something in his medic bag and Babe watched him out of the corner of his eyes. He saw he mirth flirting with Eugene’s usual grim face as the others teased Babe about Hinkle and the fox hole. Babe was laughing good naturedly about it, glancing every now and again at Eugene to gauge his reaction. He seemed to be all right, cigarette clamped between his lips, helmet off. Babe wished… Eh he couldn't wish, whateva’. 

That night it was even worse, biting cold and no one but Julian to talk too. All Babe could think about when he looked at him was how young he was. Fucking kid. 

“Heffron, I was wonderin’ if you kept ya morphine from Holland.” Eugene asked, looking cold and tired (just like the rest of them). 

Babe was pissed. He was pissed because he needed to piss, needed to go on watch and needed Eugene out of his head, goddamn it. And it all sort of came out at Gene.

“Heffron? Jesus, Gene, no one calls me Heffron.” He half whisper shouted. Eugene looked confused.

“You want me call you Edward?” 

“Fucking hell, my ma calls doesn't even call me fucking Edward. And no I don't have morphine for ya. I told ya earlier.” Babe stalked off so he didn't have to see the hurt in Eugene’s eyes because he knew it was there. 

The next morning Babe woke up with his eyelids frozen together, Julian was shaking him and saying something about a patrol and Skinny Sisk being hit. 

“Slow down, dammit.” 

“Sergeant Martin told me to wake you up and tell you there's a patrol after Mass and that Skinny Sisk got hurt and went into Bastogne.” 

Babe jumped groggily to his feet, the weariness settling into his bones as if they were a couch. “Skinny ok?” 

Julian nodded and Babe followed him in the direction of Father Maloney's jeep, frowning at his thoughts. Mass was good, but was it so good when he felt so dirty, was it dirty to think about Eugene too much? Did he…? Na, na it wasn't possible. He knelt in the snow between Julian and Muck, and tried to feel like God was absolving him of his sins, if only for a few moments. He closed his eyes and sunk into the Father’s words.

Several minutes later the sound of a truck pulling up put an end to the very hurried Mass. Eugene stepped out, handed Spina a box of supplies and they murmured in quiet tones for a moment or two before separating. Eugene walked toward them and stood in front of the Sarg. Babe completely missed something Christenson said to him as he watched the exchange between Sergeant Martin and Eugene. Eugene nodded in a flummoxed way and crouched with his back against a tree. Julian stepped forward to ask something but Martin gestured for him to get back in line.

“Tactical column people!” He yelled and Babe moved forward nodding at whatever the hell Christenson was still telling him. He hadn't heard a word still watching Eugene, who finally looked up and shrugged as if to say; “Hmph, I'm not needed.” Babe nodded and Eugene nodded back and that was the end of it. 

Not five minutes later Julian got it in the neck. Babe saw it happen, saw the stupid boy standing there like a fucking tree, saw the blood splatter across the snow steaming as it went. Babe yelled, yelled because he could get there, he could save him. Sarg was yelling too, for covering fire so Babe could get to Julian, but the fucking krauts wouldn’t let him, wouldn’t hold up a second. That’s who they were, fuckers. Babe could see the pleading in Julian’s eyes, save me, save me, save me, I’m too young to die. He felt Sergeant Martin pulling at his collar.

“We gotta go Babe, we gotta go!” The snow was flying up all around them and all Babe could do was watch Julian, the helpless in his hands making them ache.

“We’ll come back for ya!” He yelled even though he knew they couldn’t. Babe stumble ran behind the Sergeant all the way back to their own line. 

“I can get him! I can get Julian!” Babe yelled facing the direction they came. 

“No stand down.” Babe didn’t care who it was, officer or no officer he was going to fist city. Babe dropped his gun and took a step forward. Someone grabbed his arm yanking him back. 

“Do not punch Lieutenant Nixon in the face.” It was Eugene. “There is nothing you can do for Julian.” 

Babe felt a crushing sensation in his heart and he knew it was grief. Fuck the Krauts, fuck eugene he was going to go back for Julian’s things. He pulled against Eugene’s grip.

“I’m not going hit the Lieutenant.” 

“I know.” Eugene’s voice was soft, with the hardness it got when he was angry. The tightness around his mouth. “But you still think yo’ goin’ to get Julian’s things.” 

“Na, I ain’t.” Babe protested half heartedly.

“Spina!” Eugene called into the snow fog, Ralph came running up a few moments later.

“Ya?”

“Keep an eye on Heffron.” And with that Eugene let go of Babe and disappeared into the white haze. 

“Fucking killed Julian.” Babe said, all the fight going out of him at once.

“Shit.” Spina said and put an arm around his shoulders. 

Later, when the dying sun had left the trees to their grief in the night, Babe slipped into Spina and Eugen’s foxhole. 

“Can’t sleep?” Spina asked.

Babe shook his head and slid under the blanket. His head was blank, his heart heavy his hands dead, he felt too full and too empty all at the same time. There was more than grief for Julian there he knew; helpless at their situation, the constant strain and little sleep, his… whatever it was with Eugene. 

“Fuck Ralph, no I goddamn can’t sleep.” Spina slung an arm around him and they sat in silence for what felt like forever. 

Eugen slipped into the foxhole about an hour later, a small smile peeking from his lips. “Gotcha.” He whispered and the smile immediately fell away at their expressions. “I’ve got chocolate.” 

He pulled out a bar and broke of a piece handing it to Babe, who stared at it until, Eugen put a cold hand on his gloves and put the chocolate in his mouth. 

“Eat.” Was the short command.

Babe knew Eugene meant well and he knew he shouldn’t but he lashed out anyway. “Where the fuck where you? Julian sure coulda used a medic back there.” 

Babe saw Eugene flinch and he regretted the words immediately. But it was Spina who replied quietly:

“Doc was told he didn’t have to go on the patrol.”

Babe wanted to take back what he he said, to apologize, to say that he “hadn’t meant it like that.” He had meant it like that and it was his grief that had made him mean. Eugene had drawn away from him, curled back into himself and away. It was Babe’s fault, and he knew it.

They got a supply drop the next day. It was beautiful watching all of those bundles floating from the sky, but Babe was still carrying his grief and Eugene was avoiding him. Eugene avoiding everyone, he a closed in on himself and when he was called for an didn’t come, Babe went to go find him. He yanked Eugene out of his foxhole and shoved him in the right direction. Personal feelings and hurt could not get in the way of effectiveness.

The second time it happened, was after Lieutenant Welsh got hit in the leg. Babe went to find Doc and found him shaking and curled up in his foxhole as if the yell for “Medic!” was just a annoying alarm. 

“Come on Gene, get the fuck up!” He yanked at Eugene’s arm, pulling him bodily out of the foxhole. 

“I’m up, I’m going,.” Eugene was suddenly up. Babe gave him a shove in the back, right on his belt and his hand caught on the pair of scissors that Eugene had tucked there. 

“Fuck, my hand. Shit, that hurts.” Babe hissed and shoved his bleeding hand into this pocket. The goal had been accomplished, Eugene was back in working order. Maybe. He headed back to his foxhole on the edge of the line and dug in, but not before stealing the blanket from Eugene’s foxhole. It smelled like him, the spiciness, cigarettes and blood. He covered himself with it and tucked in, waiting for morning. 

Guarnere woke him up, with a kick and a K-Ration cracker. Babe gnawed on that until it was gone. His hand ached and even with the blanket he was still fucking freezing. The crunch of footsteps behind him signalled the arrival of someone else, Eugene thumped into his foxhole. 

“Seen anythin’, Babe?” His voice was that same mild tone it always was. 

“Na, they’re quieter than us.” Babe replied shortly, wiping his nose. Eugene grabbed his hand.

“What happened?” He touched the cut and Babe shivered in pain. Eugene’s hands were freezing, even colder than his.

“You did that.” Babe’s tone wasn’t accusatory. Eugene reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of checkered blue cloth, he paused and from the corner of his eye Babe could see him start to put the piece away. Eugene then seemed to change his mind and he tore the cloth in half, taking Babe’s hand he began to wind the cloth through his fingers. 

“Hey Gene.”

“Hmm?”

“You know you just called me ‘Babe’?” Babe smiled and Eugene paused, looking at him carefully. 

“Did I?” Eugene half smiled. “Babe.” He said again and Babe laughed.

“Babe.” Babe imitated and Eugene rolled his eyes.

“Heffron, yo’ an idiot. Watch the line.” He finished tying the bandage around Babe’s hand. Babe chuckled lightly eyes on the tree line in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was flash edited by me, so if you see anything, just drop a comment. 
> 
> As always thank you for reading, don't be to shy to comment or give kudos.


	4. Head Colds

Two days later Hoobler shot himself in the leg with that damn Luger he’d wanted. War hummed her tune and Chaos played the drum, the beat steady and hinting impending doom.

Two more days after that, they moved into the area surrounding Foy. The small town was like a deadly goal that had to be reached, inevitable and worrisome with Lieutenant Dike as CO. Right before they had set out for their old position on the outskirts of Foy, Eugene had dragged Babe a little way away from the men. 

“Here, I thought you might want this.” He handed Babe a set of dog tags, a ring, and a wallet. “It’s all I could get off of him.”

“This is Julian’s.” Babe’s voice was filled with disbelief and Eugene nodded in agreement. “Fuck Gene, thanks.”

“Well, take of yourself. I don’t want ta have ta take that kinda stuff to Sergeant Guarnere.” Eugene was looking at him with a strange expression on his face that Babe didn’t quite want to interpret. It would mean something had changed, or rather it would be the admittance that something had changed. Babe wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Eugene glanced around, there was no one there just shadows and snow. Babe watched Eugene slid cold fingers into his pockets. Cold and despair had settled in Eugene’s chest just as much as it had in Babe’s.

“Babe, I… I..” Before he could say anything else Babe leaned forward and kissed him. It was impulsive and sudden and Eugene didn’t react. Babe stepped back. 

“I’m fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have. Shit. Shit!” Babe didn’t even look up at Eugene before swiftly turning around walking back the way they had come. If he had looked back he might have seen a small smile flit across Eugene’s.

Babe refused to think about Doc (he was strictly Doc now). He didn’t look at him, smile at him, nothing. He dug back into his old foxhole alone, shovelling the feces left by first battalion into a fresh hole he had made in the ground. 

Then the shelling started and that damn tree fell over his foxhole, trapping him. Shells slammed into the ground around him, shaking the earth with a power only God should have. His immediate thought was for Gene, _fucking medic better be in his fucking foxhole or I’ll kill him twice._ After that first round of shelling stopped, he yelled his throat apart, falling into one of those all too familiar coughing fits that tore at his chest and lungs. Lipton and Luz ran up to help him from under the tree and the second he was up he was going to go looking for Eugene (he just couldn’t do the Doc thing anymore), when the second round of shelling started. 

This time no trees fell on Babe’s foxhole, the ground shook and the air pressure hurt his ears but he stayed in the foxhole until the shelling died down for the second time. Then, taking his helmet off, he curled up with that blanket that he’d stolen from Eugene’s foxhole and tried to sleep. He was fucking cold. Babe shivered as the wind rattled through the trees making them rub together like the long fingers of some evil thing of his childhood nightmares. The wind twisted through his clothing, a deathly lover entangling him in its embrace, God he was cold. There was crunch of snow and Gene thumped down beside him. 

"Babe."

"Ya?"

"Toye and Guarnere got hit, they're not dead and they ain't gonna be..." 

The rest of Eugene’s words faded out, Babe felt a roaring in his ears, for a second the cold was gone and the same empty/full feeling he'd felt when Julian had gotten hit spread across him like an ivy vine. He stared at Eugene as though he’d grown another nose, because the news he had brought was just as ridiculous. Toye and Guarnere were the toughest sons o' bitches he'd ever known. It wasn't possible. He didn't realize he was crying until the tears began to freeze on his cheeks. 

"Hey, hey, they're goin' to be alright." Eugene gathered Babe to his chest and kissed the top of his head. He murmured something in French and Babe suddenly felt the entire pressure of the past few weeks had crashed down on his head and his entire body shook with silent sobs. Eugene held him tightly rocking back and forward as if with a baby, murmuring in half French half English lullabies that slipped out like water over smooth rocks. Eventually the wracking sobs died down and Babe felt his eyelids droop, for the first time since they had arrived in Bastogne he felt warm. 

The next morning Babe woke up and Eugene was gone. He stood the grief that he’d shown the night before gone from his face, but his back was hunched with sadness over Guarnere and Toye. He went looking for Eugene but Luz found him instead.

“Hey, hey, Babe.” Luz was giving him a weird look.

“Ya? What’s wrong? I know about Bill and Joe.” Babe sighed digging his hands farther into his pockets.

“It’s Muck and Penkala, their foxhole took a direct hit last night.” Luz looked tired out, too grieved to hide it anymore.

“Shit. Fuck.” Babe swore and sighed. Mourning sat at the edge of shoulder, keeping him company like it had to Gene in Holland. If guys like that, like Muck, Penkala, Guarnere, Toye, if they got hit, then what were they anymore. Their veterans, their NCOs, gone. They had First Sergeant Lipton, but they also had Foxhole fucking Norman.

“Compton’s been taken off the line. Sorta broke when he saw Guarnere and Toye.” Luz sighed too. “I need a fucking smoke.” He wandered off into the trees.

Babe sat back down in his foxhole. It was too much, too much to process, to grieve about. He put his head in his hands, this fucking cold, the fucking Germans, the fucking everything. 

“Babe.” Eugene slid back into the foxhole.

“I heard about Muck and Pekala.” Babe looked up, Eugene was watching him with those bluegraygreen eyes. 

“They was good men.” He said carefully and Babe, too tired to think straight had that strange urge to kiss him again. “Babe, you lookin’ at me funny.”

“I wanna kiss you again.” Babe blurted before he could stop himself. Reacting to death this way was never something he had experienced before. It was probably the extreme conditions, the stress, but Babe wasn’t really thinking about that at that moment.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Eugene’s voice was barely above a whisper, a low rumble formed into words.

Babe felt a sinking in his chest, a filling feeling that wasn’t combined with grief-like emptiness. Jolts of sensation were passing through him. He could feel where Eugene was pressed to his side, feel his breath as they leaned toward each other like in France, outside the tents. But this time, this time he kissed Gene, like he’d never kissed any girl, yet he couldn’t compare it at all. Couldn't compare the dryness of Eugene lips, and the awkward angle. Couldn’t compare the feeling of closeness, and the scrape of stubble.

Gene raised a hand and ran a thumb over Babe’s growing beard, finding the back of his neck and tilting them in a more comfortable position. Babe raised a hand to tip the helmet off of Gene’s head. They were crazy, fucking zany, anyone could come by, but Babe didn’t care he was lost. Lost in the smell of Gene’s skin and his hair that stuck up in tufts. Lost in his warm mouth and cold hands, slipping over every angle of his face like he was trying to memorize Babe, trying to commit every part of him to his mind. 

When they broke apart they were both panting hard, and looking at each other in an evaluating sort of way. Babe broke the silence first.

“Where the fuck didya learn to kiss like that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Heffron.” Gene was grinning and Babe felt the tension and anxiety of the last couple week lift somewhat. At least now he knew where he stood with Gene. He knew there was something there, even if it was wrong, or terrible to everyone else. It was something to cling to, and dare he think it; something to live for. He smiled back. 

“Well whoever taught you did a fucking good job.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” Gene raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked sideways.

“I’m not, I didn’t mean it like that.” Babe said huffing out a laugh. 

They fell into a thoughtful silence. They both wished that they could sit here and laugh and tease each other fighting the cold that way, but there was still a fucking war going on. There was that invasion of Foy that sat like a third wheel between them. The thought that one of them could die also hung in the air around them like an unwanted spy. Babe was still thinking about Gene being a good kisser and that he’d have to do that again sometime when Gene heaved a sigh and said:

“We’re goin’ to have to talk about this sometime.”

“Ya, but we don’t gotta now.” Babe replied easily and pressed a kiss to Gene’s cheek. 

“We’ll have too.” Gene was looking at Babe in earnest

“But not now.” Babe leaned forward to kiss Gene on the mouth, but Gene rapped gently on his head.

“Na, I can hear someone-” Lieutenant Lipton stepped to the edge of the foxhole.

“How we doing, boys?”

“Wonderful, Sarge. Fucking wonderful.” Babe said, the snark back in his tone. 

“That's what I like to hear.” Lipton smiled and walked off, the crunch of his footsteps fading in the dim light. Babe grinned at Gene like a fellow conspirator. Gene smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short, so I will try and upload the next (and last) chapter within the next few hours.
> 
> As always comment and kudos are not unwelcome.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving!


	5. The Finality of Death

Morning came with the message that they would be at taking Foy, whether Dike was fit for it or not. Fucking incompetent officer. Babe was, however, thankful that Doc wasn’t coming along, damn him he’d get hisself killed, stupid bastard. Babe reluctantly stood up the cold creeping around in his bones and conspiring to make him sit back down next to the warmth that was Gene still asleep under the blanket. At his movement Gene’s eyes blinked open and and he frowned at Babe’s upright form.

“We’re taking Foy today.” Babe said abruptly, as if saying it would make it somehow easier to swallow. Gene’s eyes widened and he reached up to yank Babe back down again. 

“Wha-” Babe was silenced by a hard kiss on the lips. 

“Don't you fuckin’ get yo’self killed ya hea’.” Gene’s voice was fierce. “I don't wanna havta put you back together again.”

Babe nodded dazedly, “Whatever ya say, Gene.” 

He went to go find Sergeant Martin.

The attack went to shit from the start. Dike didn’t know what he was fucking doing. He gave contradictory orders and he fucking froze behind a bale of hay. Bullets and shells rained down around them and Babe thought for sure he was going to buy the farm this time. He hoped Gene would forgive him and get his things back to his Ma, and maybe keep one of his dog tags. 

Babe was hiding behind a wagon when Lieutenant Speirs showed up. He relieved Dike of command and ordered the men back into operation, then ran to hook up with I Company. Babe had never seen such a fucking amazing thing in his life. The Germans didn't shoot at him get were so surprised. Then after hooking up with I the Lieutenant came running on back. Babe felt himself holding in a breath in sheer disbelief at the man. Maybe now they would finally get to keep a CO longer than a couple months. 

After that taking the town was easy. And the next town and the next. Gene was never far from sight, flitting here and there checking and rechecking the wounded. His soft voice calming the men with red weeping from bullet wounds and grenade busts. Babe was proud in a way and sometimes Gene would look up at him and a smil would quirk the edge of his lips and that was it. They hadn't had a moment alone since that last kiss in a foxhole in Bastogne. Babe wished… he wished that they could be alone for just a moment, a fucking moment of peace.

When they had stayed the night in that church, Babe had felt homesickness shoving the cold out of his bones. He ached for the sound of church bells on Sunday and his Ma’s cookin’ and shootin’ the shit with his brothers. He felt someone nudge his thigh and he looked up. Gene was giving him a concerned glance. He shook his head and Gene leaned over and whispered. 

“We’re all homesick, Babe.” Babe nodded and for a second wished they were somewhere else. Them, their thing, whatever the hell it was, felt wrong in a church. A glance at Gene suggested nothing as to the medic’s thoughts. Babe left it at that. 

~ 

If Hagenau was supposed to be “off the line” then what was the line. Babe supposed he shouldn’t complain all that much. They had hot food, they weren’t fucking freezing or being forced to go on unnecessary patrols, it was more than he could ask for after the freezing conditions of Bastogne. Webster was back from being shot in the leg in fucking Holland, walking in like he could somehow just become part of the men again. Babe resented the clean uniform and and fresh boots but he wasn’t going to say anything. He left that to Liebgott. 

Then they were told they were going on one of those unnecessary patrols that Babe had just thanked god that they weren’t being forced to go on. He had just stepped out of the basement after another missile had passed over the house when call that someone had gotten hit rang out. He ran, Liebgott at his side, to see who it was and praying it wasn’t Gene. 

Gene was there, taking down the man’s name and serial number. Babe almost didn’t recognize the dead man as Sergeant Kien until he saw the spuds. He walked away with a pit in his stomach and a jiggling in his leg, people weren’t supposed to be dying anymore. The war was practically fucking over.

Babe found Gene after his shower and uniform change. They stepped into an alley, Gene pulled off his helmet and rested it on the ground at his feet. Babe shoved his hands into his pockets, wanting to ask if Gene was ok but not saying anything. 

“They taking a medic on this fucking patrol?” Babe watched Gene pull out a smoke and stare at it for a couple seconds.

“No. They said it’ll be quick and clean.” Gene’s tone was wry. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and dug around for a lighter. Babe pulled out his and offered it, Gene took it with grateful nod. 

“Like fucking Bastogne.” Babe said and took the lighter back, shoving it in a pocket.

“Hey, Babe, this ain’t Bastogne anymore.” Gene said, closing his eyes and exhaling a cloud of smoke. 

“Well people are still fucking dying.” Babe’s voice tightened. Gene’s eyes opened and he gave Babe a hard look.

“You think I don’t fuckin’ know? You think I don’t know about people dyin’? That they’re still dyin’? I’m a medic for Pete’s sake, we take care o’ every fuckin’ one of you.” He shoved a finger into Babe’s chest. “You fuckin’ GIs that get yo’selves shot and bust open, it’s us you yell for and you die in ou’ fuckin’ arms. So don’t you fucking tell me people are still dying because believe me I fucking know.”

Gene threw his half finished cigarette to the ground and stalked away. Babe kicked the wall in frustration. War was a fucking piece of shit. 

The patrol passed across the river and into enemy territory easily enough. No noise and the replacement Lieutenant didn’t fuck up. The assault team went forward and Babe sat pensively on his heels, rifle clenched tightly in his hands, the snow under his knees melting and making his pants wet. There was a bang from the house, then yelling and Babe cursed under his breath, tense, muscles straining at the pain of waiting, of not knowing. 

The men burst out the door, Vest and Ramirez supporting a man between them followed quickly by Martin and Webster shoving two shouting Germans out of the house. Bullets were popping left and right. Babe heard the Sergeant yelling something about getting back to the river and the crazy thought that, if he died right now the last memory he would have of Gene would be of his back, spurred him into action. He kept low following the man in front of him back to the boats then across the river. 

Babe helped get Jackson, because that’s who it was, poor bastard, onto a table. Everyone was shouting and Vest had gone at the prisoners and that Lieutenant Jones was yelling at him. Webster was yelling for a fucking medic and maybe Sergeant Martin had gone for Doc, Babe couldn’t remember. He was trying to hold back another man who’d gone after the prisoners when Doc finally raced into the room. 

It was as if someone had put a muffling blanket over the whole scene. Suddenly everyone went quiet as Gene leaned over Jackson murmuring calmingly, getting him to focus on the light to calm him down. Everything that had been noisy and chaotic a moment before went still and time, it seemed to Babe to hold her breath just like the rest of them. 

“It’s alright Jackson, yo’ gonna be fine.” Gene helped get the stretcher open and get Jackson in it. 

Then Time let out a sigh and Fate took over, Chaos laughing in her wake. Jackson started to choke, Gene was yelling for quiet and telling Jackson he wasn’t going die. The men yelled again and tried to get at the prisoners. Babe watched Jackson convulse, bloody bubbles bursting from his mouth, one last time and then everything went silent again. Gene took off his helmet, ran his hand through his hair and looked up at Babe and there was something so sad in those eyes that Babe wanted to gather Gene into his arm and hold him.

The room was quiet, Mourning had cast her shroud over the men. Sergeant Martin took a blanket off Sisk and laid it carefully over Jackson’s body. Eugene Jackson had been a well loved friend and soldier. Now at the end, when they thought that all they had to do was un-fucking-necessary patrols, he was dead. Babe shivered, the dank of the basement in his bones.

A few moments later he followed Gene outside into the alley behind the house. Babe watched Gene pull out a cigarette and try to light it with shaking hands. 

“What in hell do you want?” Venom laced Gene’s tone.

“Gene, give me the cigarette.” Babe’s voice was calm and clear. 

“No.” Gene threw it to the ground and Babe stepped forward, yanking Gene into an impromptu embrace. “What the h-”

Gene struggled for a second before suddenly going limp. There was a pause and Babe could smell soap and blood in Gene’s hair. Then Gene’s shoulders began to shake and silent racking sobs trembled through his body. Babe held him tightly rocking back and forth and murmuring in his ear.

“Shhhh, it’s a-right. Shhhhh.”

Gene mumbled something into Babe’s coat. “Hmmm?”

“I said, it coulda been you.” Gene’s voice hiccuped on the ‘you.’

“Na, na, don’t think like that.” Babe said stilling rocking back and forth. 

“It coulda been you…” Gene said again. “an’ the last thing...I fuckin’ yelled…”

“Shhhh.” Babe hushed, Gene looked at him, tear stained cheeks in a moon cursedly bright. Babe thought he was prettier than any broad. 

Then carefully and gently, like Babe would break, Gene reached up, long fingers framing babe’s face and kissed him. Gene kissed Babe like he was glass, breakable, almost not believing he was real. He tasted like sadness, like tears, like smoke and ash, like youth lost and like grief. Babe held him just as gently and kissed him back just as carefully, because that’s all he could do. 

There was so much pain and so much death around them. So old souls in young men’s bodies, the destruction of innocence birthed in places like this. Places where friends died and homes were destroyed. 

Babe thought, as he stood in that dark, cold alley in Hagenau, with Gene’s sorrowful, trembling body pressed to his, that Hate and Chaos had made their child; War. War had taken all.

“Babe.” Gene said, when he pulled back enough to rest his head against Babe’s.

“Hmm?” Babe had his eyes closed, thinking about Gene.

“Thank you.” Gene’s whispered words filled a hole in Babe in a place he hadn’t even known was there.

“Shhhh.” Babe nuzzled his nose across Gene’s forhead and into his hair. “Shhh, we’ll be a-right.”

Gene let out one last shuddering breath and kissed Babe on the forehead. He mumbled something in French into Babe’s skin and let go of him. 

“I’ll walk you back to Battalion.” 

Gene smiled faintly. “I ain’t a lady, I can walk myself.”

“I never implied that you were, but I’m gonna walk you anyway.” Babe punched him in the shoulder. “You’re the best guy I’ve got here, Gene.”

Gene smiled all the way, white teeth flashing in the traitorous moonlight. “You’re sure as hell the best guy I’ve got.”

The two walked off to Battalion with straighter backs and a little less pain and grief in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, the end, its been a real journey. Especially word count wise. Thank you to everyone involved in this long process, to everyone who commented and gave kudos, you're all wonderful human beans (yes I just did that). 
> 
> I might be posting a Justified fic later this week so stay tuned. 
> 
> Hope everyone has a good night.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is definitely a work in progress, anything you see that should be fixed grammatically or plot wise please say something. Other than that I will probably update Friday mornings. Thank you for reading.


End file.
